to lead it here
by breeshell
Summary: I have no life but this, To lead it here; A series of drabbles for Spock and Uhura.
1. Reunion

I have no life but this,  
To lead it here;

-Emily Dickinson

* * *

**.reunion.**

Spock rematerialized back on the Enterprise, seconds before his ship collided with the Narada. He stands for a second, frozen, shaken. Kirk and Pike stumble off the pad towards doctors. Scott laughs at his transporting achievement.

Behind the doctor's Spock sees her; he steps off the pad, takes long strides across the room. They only have this moment, the fight is not over yet. In this instant, he needs to touch her, feel her skin against his. He crashes into her, taking her hands into his own. Their fingers lace, a human gesture that he's never experienced, but feels natural all the same.

They do not speak; he puts his forehead to hers, she touches his neck, his jaw line. In this moment, this fraction of time his love for her is overwhelming. "I told you I would be back," he says in a hushed voice. She nods, squeezes his hand.


	2. what do you need?

**//"what do you need?"\\**

"What do you need?" she asks with such tenderness as her thin arms are wrapped around his sturdy frame. She feels him tremble as he struggles to keep it all, his thoughts, his feelings, himself, inside. "Tell me." She pulls back and touches his face, cupping his cheeks between her hands. "Tell me."

Need? He needs to keep working, he needs to be alone, he needs to return to Vulcan, he needs to be on Earth; he needs silence, noise a distraction, he needs to return to duty; he needs his mother.

He releases the emergency stop of the turbolift. "I need," he begins. His voice is balancing on cracking. His words are slow and deliberate, it is a struggle to speak without tears. She feels his jaw clench when he continues: "everyone to continue performing admirably."

Her lips tweak a moment into a slight frown, but she nods, tears in her own eyes. This isn't rejection, or humiliation. He is doing his best, she knows this. "Okay." She runs her fingers through his hair again. She kisses him, twice and on the third, he kisses back, leaning into her lips. Her hand is on his chest and she feels his heart beating, hard, but broken.

The doors open with their customary swish and he leaves, striding down the hall without looking back at her. His stomach churns, sadness has filled him. He wants to turn around, go back into her arms. When he turns around at the end of the hall to look at the lift, it is closed and she is gone.

He swallows. He needs Nyota.


	3. parenthood

**.parenthood.**

"Daddy," the little girl calls. Spock looks down at her tugging on is pant leg. She is three years old and he is still unaccustomed to being addressed as such.

"Yes, Sonia." He shifts away from the board, shutting off the screen.

"Pick me up." She throws her arms up, like she is reaching for the stars. He does as she commands, lifting her from the ground to his level. She giggles as he does so, loving the sensation of being carried. Her smile is wide (she does not have all her teeth yet) and infectious, causing the corners of his own lips to make a slight grin.

Sonia is light, as any child is, but he still feels as if he could break her. She leans into him, putting her tiny hands on either side of his face. He stares into her eyes, that are dark, practically black like his own. Her hair is just as dark and straight like glass, pulled back into pigtails. She squeezes his cheeks as she plants a slightly sloppy, but affectionate kiss on his lips. "I love you, Daddy." She says. It is truth, her little way of life. It warms him deeply to hear these words from his child. "Okay, I'm ready to be put down now."

Spock's grin widens. "Very well." He puts her down; she shakes her head, hair moving wildly. She pushes strands behind her pointed, Vulcan ears before running off, back down the hall that she came from. He shakes his head in amusement and goes back to his board. She sings to herself in her bedroom down the hall.

Nyota appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. "She makes you more human, you know." She rubs her emerging belly; the second child shall be here in four months.

"As have you,"


	4. addicted

warning: sexual themes here, kinda heavy.

* * *

**.addicted.**

He is propped up against the head-board, half lidded eyes fluttering, breath ragged. One hand is on the back of her head, making circles at the base of her neck, tugging her hair, the other hand clutches the sheets.

He has never experienced pleasure the way he does with her. The way she touches him, with her hands, her mouth, lips hot and wet against his skin. He pulls her hair tighter, when the pleasure spikes. At that moment, she stops, crawls up towards him from under sheets, wicked grin on her lips. He swallows hard, takes a breath before yanking her forward, devouring her mouth, pulling the hair a little harder. He forces her down on his lap and grabs her hips.

She does this on purpose, teases him with licks and nibbles, driving him to be forceful, hungry. She never doubts his love or his desire for her, but a Vulcan unleashed on passion, is unmatchable. His fingers will leave bruises and she will leave tiny scars on his back.

"Spock," she exhales into his ear, breathe hot. When he comes, he bites down on her neck, uncontrolled, primal.


	5. lost myself

**."Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found".**

Rage. Hate. Regret. Sadness. These thoughts, emotions all boil inside of him, deep in his chest, burning a hole.

He does not clearly see when he strikes Kirk, throwing him across the console, into a computer pad. He is not thinking clearly when he jabs the other man directly in the wind pipe and then wraps his fingers around Kirk's neck. He squeezes almost as hard as he can.

The hole in his chest burns brightly and Spock holds as tight as the hole is burning. He wishes nothing more than to end Kirk's life, smuther it out of existance just as Amanda was. Never has he felt a rage like this. He can feel the fragile bones and muscles in Kirk's neck cracking and stretching just below the skin.

"Spock."

His father's voice manages to cut through. Break his concentration, temporarily stop the burning, though he still feels it causing a sore, blistering and unable to heal. He realzies that he is breathing again, deeply, breaths ragged and forced. He releases Kirk, steps back. His heart pounds furiously, his body shakes.

With a trembling voice he resigns his status captain, he marks the date and time in his head. When he leaves, he stops, only for a second at the door, locking eyes with Uhura. She wants to follow, touch his face, kiss his brow, she wants to make the burning stop.

But not this time. He exits praying (as much as a Vulcan can pray) that she does not follow. Slowly he staggers down the hall, shoulders slumped, eyes overcast by darkness, listening to Kirk's voice. Spock fears for what he has just done. He is afraid that is who he really is.

The spot in his heart burns again. He knows that physically, his heart his well, strong, pumping blood as it should. And yet, there is the burn, the sensation that at any moment, it would cease function. A small part of him, in the tiniest recess of his human half, hopes for this. Because if his heart stops beating, it can't hurt anymore.


	6. whisper

.**whisper.**

He presses his forehead to hers, a small gesture on Earth, but a large sign of affection on Vulcan. He can sense her thoughts, feel the outward tingle of her emotions, like fingers brushing his soul. "I will be back," he whispers.

"You better be." She pulls away and looks into his eyes. "I'll be monitoring your frequencies." Her voice is trembling, but she won't lose her composure. This is a promise that he had every intention of attempting to keep.

"Thank you, Nyota," he says. Her name is like a pearl on his lips, cool, beautiful, a privilege to have. Days ago he never would have dreamed of addressing her by her first name outside of private quarters. But with his father's tragedy-soaked confession, Spock now feels liberated, free to speak her name, to touch her face.

They kiss, lightly, and he makes sure that she feels he is kissing back. Never does he want her to feel unapperciated, unloved. She touches his chest when she pulls away, perhaps to feel his heart one last time. He has no delusions of living through this mission. She steps off the pad and stands by the enegering crew. He holds his breath as he begins to dematerilize. She is the last thing he sees, and if he is to die, she will be his last thought.


	7. first time

**warning SEXUAL CONTENT**

**

* * *

  
**

**.first time.**

Clothes are peeled away and form colorful piles on the floor. She has wanted this and she knows he has too. She can feel it when his fingers graze over her skin, down her shoulders, around her breasts and her hips. His hands slip under her bum, down her thighs and back around to the front. Along the way, he applies slight pressures, gentle pinches on specific nerves.

How strange, she thinks, that he is able to read her so easily. She lays naked under him, the only thing seperating them is the thin fabric of his underwear. She touches his face, along the jawline, up to his ears. His body shudders at this and he sets his body against her, their pelvis' fitting together, their legs tangle. Their kisses are long and passionate, he gently bites her bottom lilp, she runs her tongue briefly over one of his canines.

"Nyota," he purrs in her ear, while touching her hair, her beautiful, silk like hair. He's imagined it like this, down and spread around her face, framing it like a photograph. He wants her to feel everything he feels, to know how deeply he cares for her.

He is heavier than she expected, though the weight of him is welcoming, the warmth of his skin. His lips are hot across her neck, on the hallow of her throat. She is almost at her peak, just from his fingers on her nerves. She cannot wait any longer. In a quick motion of her hands, he is out of the boxers, and inside of her.

"Oh..." she breathes, her eyes rolling back. He touches her temple, the other hand grabs her hip, holding tight. There will be a bruise, but she doesn't care. She wants the proof, the marks. Their movements are a bit jumbled, their pace is off.

He comes with a grunt, pulling her hair a bit. He presses to her temple again, giving her an orgasm, which she experiences silently. He propts himself up on his arms, still hovering. His eyes are glossed over, black and intense. "I do apologize," he exhales, looking away. "Was that to your satisfaction?" he asks.

She chuckles. "Very much so." She shakes her head, touches his ears again. A smile splays across her face.

She glows, feels as if she is floating and only his weight is holding her down. She runs her fingers through his hair. Their chests press together and she can feel his heart-beat, pulsing, living. There are so many words, so many thoughts she wants to express, but she remains silent.

He kisses her, soft and light. He is trembling down to his bones. There was a peace in this moment, one he'd never experienced before, not even with his two previous lovers. It serine, silent. A bond had been formed, cemented.

Spock listens to their breathing, slow, in sync. This, he believes, is what love is.


	8. homesick

**.homesick.**

Vulcan was not a beautiful planet. Its ground was red and dusty, the air thick and humid; there wasn't much planet life (unless one was to travel to the far mountains) and only one ocean. It had only two season, a dry season which lasted for almost nine months and was (to outsiders anways) unbearble hot and a wet season where it rained for the remainder months, and was only partially cooler, but Spock missed it.

Before it's destruction, he had not been there in over a year, but he still remembered it vividly; the red rocks, the faintest hint of the blue sky. He remembered his childhood home, where his mother would cook in the kitchen, and his father meditate in the study. He remembered As a child, Amanda had tried decorating his bedroom, with pictures of spaceships and owls. At age five he politely told her it was not necessary, but the frames and paintings remained.

In his quarters on the _Enterprise _he carried a few mementos with him. A framed photograph of his mother's garden on the desk, a postcard of the landscape pinned to wall. He was never one to be sentimental, but when he began to have dreams of the dry sun and dusty air, he felt the need to unearth those old objects, the only phsysical evidence he had of the planet in which he grew up.

On Earth in a storage unit he had several more mementos brought with him when he joined Starfleet. A few pieces of sculpture, a painting, more photographs Amanda sent and an old stuffed owl that she insisted he take with him. It stayed wrapped in a towel, stuck in a box and hidden under his bed for years. Spock longed now to return to Earth to go through the unit, to go over photographs and touch that silly owl.

He sits now at the desk looking at the photograph of his mother's garden. There is only a cactus (from Earth ) with bright pink flowers in bloom, catching the sun's light and a spring of oleander, white petals like Amanda was never able to grow lush things, no roses or irises, no grass or lilies. He lets out a sigh, though a quiet one before standing. The lights are off, it is late. He moves to the bed where Nyota sleeps, curled up in cotton sheets, head buried deep within the pillow. Her black hair is splayed out, lining her face like an eclipse.

He crawls into bed next to her. In her sleep, she senses his weight and rolls to him, wrapping a thin arm around his waist, her head on his shoulder. He inhales, taking in her scent; camomile and lavender, soothing and calm.

He glances out the port-hole at the endless sea of stars and blackness, pretending that any minute now they will pass over Vulcan. He falls alseep thinking this and dreams of cacti with pink flowers and the smell of lavender on the wind.


	9. scar

**scar**

"What's this from?" she asks, running her fingers over a thick scar on the front of his thigh, above the knee. It's jagged and raised, smooth to the touch.

They lay together on his bed, half-covered by sheets. She rests in the space of his arm, leaning her head on his chest while his hand is in her hair, tangled in the thick mass of curls. "When I was young, I briefly thought a jungle gym would be entertaining."

She smiles, loving the image of him as a child on top of an Earth jungle gym. "Was it fun?"

He shifts slightly, mades circles on her back. "It was not."


End file.
